


On the Beach at Dusk

by MechidGiratina



Category: Advance Wars
Genre: Blood and Injury, Brief description of exposed organs, Crash Landing, Crying, Eagle contemplates life and all that jazz, Eagle's legs hurt, F/M, Green Earth, Hawke and Eagle Rivalry, One Shot, Short brawl scene, Suspense, Takes place at an unknown time but after AW2, War, black hole, brief drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechidGiratina/pseuds/MechidGiratina
Summary: Two commanders of Green Earth, Eagle and Drake, found themselves in a fierce battle against Black Hole forces.Unfortunately for the both of them, the tides of battle went against their favor, and Eagle was shot down over a beach. Still alive, he goes to look for help. But he may have found more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Sami/Eagle (Advance Wars)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	On the Beach at Dusk

Cold. That’s what the edges of his awakening mind first picked up on – the ebbing and flowing of the subzero dampness seeping into his very bones, slowly flickering his eyes open, hazily watching saltwater lick at his hands on the freezing metal floor. Momentary panic energized him, believing that he was underwater, and caused him to jump up with a start and accidently ring his head on a ruined, warped support bar. Eagle heard himself groan, rubbing the back of his head in anguish, and, through bleary eyes, took note of his surroundings. 

Evening sunlight filtered down from a gaping hole in the ceiling of the small metal capsule he found himself in – beyond, a clear sky with seagulls wheeling about – reflecting off scattered glass shards and the slowly encroaching tide, oozing in through a hole in the floor of the place and forming a slowly growing puddle.

_ Is this a Battle Copter? _ He thought through the gradually dissipating brain fog,  _ It _ _ must be, right? But it’s completely wrecked... I... was in the middle of a battle? What the hell knocked me out of the sky?... god, I have a headache. _

Cautiously, he stood up, leaning back against a nearby, dented wall and watched the birds glide about, high above him, laughing in that peculiar call unique to their kind. Now that he thought about it, it was a wonder he hadn’t been thrown through it on the way down – there was no way he would have survived otherwise. He counted himself lucky.

_ … yeah, I’m grounded, you guys. Laugh it up. _

He took a step, hissing and flinching as a quick burst of pain shot through his legs – he must have hurt them in the crash, considering there were spots of red bleeding through, contrasting with the fabric of his uniform, a few shards of glass embedded throughout. He bit his lip and set about to trying to remove them – and swiftly stopped with a yelp as the pain intensified tenfold.

“... that damn cruiser, wasn’t it,” he murmured, body and mind aching in tandem, “I didn’t even see it coming, it was just under that bomber plane, was...”

His eyes widened with utter terror, the shock from the crash finally vanishing as he recounted the events with crystal clarity – how on earth could he have forgotten? Hawke. It had been Hawke, of course, that bastard, against him and Drake – was Drake okay? He couldn’t remember anything beyond the sudden, oncoming wave of darkness, he had been shouting over the radio to him... was he still fighting out there? He fumbled with the copter’s two-way receiver, slamming one fist against the controls, trying to send out a signal...

“This is Commanding Officer Eagle, of Green Earth! I was shot down just over the ocean, combating encroaching Black Hole forces... I think I’m on a beach close by. Can anyone pick up my location?”

Only unbroken radio silence followed.

The breath catching in his throat, he saw that the receiver’s cord was severed during the crash. Even if the machinery, had, by some chance, remained functional enough to provide a message... there was no way for him to respond and tell someone he was alive. Tiredly, he threw the useless item off to the side, it splashing the icy water onto his boots as a result.

_ Then what now? _

He turned his gaze back towards the gaping hole in the ceiling – what would house the windshield had the copter been in a normal orientation – and grimaced. That was the only way out, and it would be the only way to go. 

_ Slow. Careful, you don’t really know how badly you hurt your legs. _

One hand over the other, he clambered up a length of metal, careful to not push the shards in his legs any deeper into his skin. It was agonizing, each passing second feeling more akin to hours, as he noted with flooding worry how high the tide had become, what was once a puddle at his feet growing more akin to a lake.

_ Yeah, that’s it. Just like your training, huh? You can fly anything. How’s a little upper body exercise going to stop you? _

Almost. Almost there, and he reached out – as a massive shockwave shook the downed craft, a deafening explosion echoing from somewhere disturbingly close by. His heart caught in his throat as his body tasted weightlessness for a mere second, before he caught onto the jagged edge of the hole, his legs dangling down into empty space as his ears rung painfully. 

_ There’s someone nearby, isn’t there? Crap, I need to get somewhere where I won’t be such an obvious target! _

He held on tighter, even as the metal bit into his hands, drawing a small amount of blood, carefully pulling himself, up, over... too far over.

“SHIT!” 

He tumbled down the beaten side of the copter, landing face-first into the shallows of the beach, coughing and sputtering as the water burned his nose. But he was alive, at least for the time being. He sat there, against the flying machine’s hide for a brief moment, staring out at the sun dipping below the waves. Shapes bobbed about beneath the surface – presumably fish, or dolphins, as his friend had always told them they come out to leap and break the surface of the water in a gorgeous, sparkling arc – that cosmic star complementing their ever-elegant dance with its fading light. He allowed the damp sand to seep into his boots, the chill soothing to his aches and bruises. No wonder Drake did this all the time... it was unbelievably relaxing. The sun always vanished from this world every single day, and it always came back, always giving reassurance to the creatures of this earth that there would always be another dawn out of the darkness. Maybe he was right. Maybe he should take a deep breath, try to relax a little more, focus on things other than just the air. Maybe he would even get around to telling Sami...

The peaceful illusion was shattered by a great, greyish, bulky object thundering overhead, immediately recognizable to him as a bomber plane – that bomber plane from before, he was sure of it – and it sent horrific chills down his spine as he realized what exactly what was lurking under those waves. Those weren’t fish. It was debris, from a ship. And a lot of it.

He shot up onto his feet, running away from the premonitory sight, running up to the shore, and his blood ran cold. There was about half the hull of a battleship, smoldering from where it had been flung onto the coast, the beach littered with craters of blackened metal. Distantly, he picked up on the returning thunderous noise of the bomber – they had spotted him, surely, and the only cover was the ruins up ahead. The only problem was, there was a stretch of about a hundred feet separating him from safety. He ran, ran like he had never run before in his life. Always priding himself in speed in battle, he hoped he could live up to that reputation in that moment as the plane pursued him, even though his lower body was crying out for him to stop.

Fifty feet. Almost there. Halfway there. The bomber screeched incessantly behind him, making its presence more than known. Thirty feet. He stumbled over a crater, slowing and nearly tripping and windmilling his arms about, but caught himself and kept moving. Twenty feet. The noise was unbearable, drowning all else out. Ten feet. 

_ I’m not going to make it I’m going to die here Green Earth will be overrun no one will even know I was here and Sami and Andy and Drake my home oh god Sami I wish I could have- _

He dove for the ground, sliding into imaginary third base – a sentiment unusual to him, having never played baseball in his life, having only heard anything about it colloquially from the officers of Orange Star – thudding against the internal hull softly. The bomber whizzed on by overhead, without so much as the typically farewell note of its exploding cargo. Heart feeling as though it was about to explode, hyperventilating, he lay there momentarily, laughing in spite of the situation.

“Ha....  hahaha ... oh, how’s that, Hawke? I’m still the fastest goddamn air ace in the land. Did... did you really think you could catch me... with my own tricks?” he grinned, then his face fell as he remembered the situation. He needed backup, ASAP. Fleeing back to friendly territory was completely out of the question, and he wasn’t going to wait around for more ships to blow up to provide cover. What he needed was rest, and whatever rations he could scrounge together, if he could find them – salt water and sand wasn’t going to cut it. That, and maybe... 

_ … isn’t this the battleship Drake was on? _

The dark thought lingered at the back of his mind for some time, before, resigned, quietly, softly, and with sore muscles, he got back up for what felt like the billionth time that day, slowly limping his way into the innards of the ship in the fading light, gaze solely fixed on the ground as he thought about what led him here, to this life of combat. It was fun, some days: the thrill of narrowly dodging incoming enemy fire, the rush of crushing opposing forces with his lightning-fast tactics, the cheering from his troops when they conquered the opposition’s HQ. He had what he had wanted, ever since he was a child, as well – being the most famed and feared air ace in all of the known world, determined to let his father’s legacy live on through him, and surrounded by good friends. It was almost like a game: make your way to the enemy, wipe the floor with them, take their base, and go out for pizza afterwards. But it had its low points, too, and this was one of them.

_ Can’t tell if this is worse than Andy and his friends needing to bail my ass out when Hawke took over Green Earth. It’s certainly up there.  _ _ Plus _ _ that time  _ _ Jess' _ _ tank got stuck in the mud on that mission through the swamp... my back hurts just thinking about it. _

Pausing, it hit him. Why he was so used to the sheer euphoria of destruction rather than stopping, contemplating life, and why it felt like a game. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach at the epiphany.

_ I’m too young. God, I’m too young. _

He had joined the Green Earth air force first chance he had gotten, and never looked back. Why, he would be turning nineteen only next month.

_ If I get out of this hellhole. _

And what of Andy? He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. But he was perfectly happy doing what he did so long as he could work on top-of-the-line machinery and weaponry. He may occasionally forget what airports do, but the kid could tell you about all the parts in a tank, in alphabetical order, including how much they cost and what they did.

_ … remind me to never ask him about the inner workings of a  _ _ Neotank _ _ ever again... I fell asleep midway through and he started over from the beginning. And it was three in the morning! _

Pausing, he stared at the floor in confusion. After a little ways down the darkened main hall, it became discolored in patches, immediately reminding him of mold. Crouching down to get a better look, he slowly passed a gloved hand over the surface, and watched as the motion left a reddish-brown smear across the ground. It smelled strongly metallic.

_ Blood? _

Immediately, he stood stock still, surveying the rest of the way down. There was a trail of blood, alright, and it looked fresh. It led intermittently to a port door that was hanging down off its hinges, handprints evident on the valve that would normally shut it. He felt himself gag, hesitant to approach, but... someone could be hurt. As a fairly decent human being, he felt it his duty to help, even if they happened to be on the opposing side.

He took a single step.

Another.

Approached the door.

Set a hand on the valve, feeling that familiar premonitory dread again.

_ … please, don’t let it... _

The door swung painstakingly to the side. The room beyond appeared to be the bridge of the ship; the technology held within surprisingly intact when compared to the rest, even with the wheel being made into useless splinters by the impact. The blood led to it, to someone weakly hunched over a radio much like the one he himself had tried to use in the copter ruins, the red liquid starting to pool about their body. Their body was not in good shape, various lacerations from irregular shards of metal having shredded through their uniform; with one impaling clear through their left arm – the limb hung uselessly next to their side – though that was far from the most grievous injury they had suffered. Their stomach was torn open, internal organs exposed and the other arm desperately trying to keep the entrails from spilling out with their best effort to bandage it with what they had: a few soaked-through fabric strips and nothing more.

“DRAKE!”

He heard his name tear itself breathlessly from his lungs, the previous exhaustion all but a distant memory as he dashed to his friend’s side, hands trembling, trying to figure out if he could do anything, but he knew, oh, he knew he was too late, but even so his eyes flickering open on his blood-stained face gave him hope, he would be fine, he had to be, they were in so many battles together, they got through their military training together, and they would leave the battlefield behind here together, wasn’t it just a game they played after all-

The Naval Captain murmured something under his breath, expression shifting as he registered Eagle’s presence.

“...E... Eagle...  whuh ... you’re... alive?”

“Drake, y-yeah, it’s me. I’m here, okay?” What was he supposed to do? He hadn’t gone to the Air Force for medical training, after all! “We... we got attacked. It’s my fault, I should... I NEEDED to have seen Hawke’s bomber. If I hadn’t-”

“... don’t say that. ‘S not your fault... don’... don’t be ridiculous.” Despite the situation, he grinned. “... didn’t see it either. Plus, Hawke... that... that... darkness thing he... you know.”

He sighed, a gurgling noise coming from the general location of his lungs. 

“J... just got unlucky... didn’t... see that storm...” he took a single, rattling breath, “... just... didn’t think it was going... to end this way.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Eagle’s voice started to break, both of his hands unconsciously moving to grasp Drake’s shoulders, “You and  me are getting out of here! A... Andy can fix you up, r-right away. I-If not him, then I don’t... I-I don’t know who can. You are NOT dying in this tin can! Y-You can’t! You’re Drake, Green Earth’s  world-famous sea captain!”

He looked shocked for a moment, staring at Eagle’s face. Faintly, the pilot was aware he was crying. He wasn’t sure if he had ever done that in front of his friends, and in his peripheral vision saw the tears dully splattering against the ground. Despair was overwhelming his body like a tidal wave, his body involuntarily shuddering as his vision started to blur.

“Eagle.  It.. It's okay. Really. L-like you said, I’ll be... fine. Maybe not in the way you... think it will be...”

“Stop. Please.”

Drake’s gaze lowered, focusing on the gaping wound in his stomach. Plaintively and as compassionately as possible, he spoke softly, “... I... I’m dying, Eagle. You know... you know you can’t change that... I know it isn’t... fair...” he broke off into a coughing fit, hacking up more of that dark red fluid that permeated the area, “... but... at least... you should keep living. I owe you that much... as your friend.”

He sighed exhaustively, not wanting to accept that he was correct – he couldn’t be, some part of him was still stupidly convinced that maybe, some miracle could happen - but reality was starting to settle down around him, crushing him. Drake wasn’t going to make it. 

“It... doesn’t hurt anymore... funny... hey, Eagle?”

“Yeah?”

“... I’m... really tired. What a day, huh...?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s been a long day. I... did that thing you always tell me to do. To stare at the ocean when I’m stressed.”

“... did it... help?”

“Yes. So... so much.”

“... I want to... look at it... one last time...”

Drake, the best naval commander Green Earth, and the world had ever known, gave his last breath, eyes closing for the final time, a small smile still on his face.

Eagle wasn’t sure for how long he sat there by his side, his uniform stained from both his own deep misery, as well as the blood from his own friend’s guts. The cabin was very nearly pitch-black, utter silence having drawn over the area since that Bomber sweep.

_ I... I  _ _ have to _ _ give him a proper burial. But there’s no way I can move him like this, I’m too exhausted and he’s... too heavy. Wh... what do I do? _

Something clanked in the darkness behind him, and in an instant he whirled about, eyes fatigued with all the emotions rushing through him.

“Who’s there?” he instinctively barked, a hand balling up into a fist, trying to see back into the darkened hall. He was in absolutely no position to fight, he knew – if they had a weapon, and they intended to kill... well, he wouldn’t be able to fulfil Drake’s last wishes, now could he?

The faintest outline of a figure moved in the dark, causing his heart to skip a beat as he swallowed nervously... then relief came, followed by confusion... as they left, with heavy footsteps?

_ Were they watching me that entire time?... Who the hell was that?! _

Unknown to him for whatever reasons, he felt compelled to go after them despite the danger. Drifting over to the entranceway, setting a hand on the door, he gave one final glance over back to Drake’s body, seemingly at peace in death.

“I’ll be back for you. Just got to do something  real quick. And then... we can both go watch the ocean.” He gave a strained smile to the lifeless room. “It’s supposed to be really clear tonight, with one of the brightest moons in a long time. Think the news called it a ‘Sturgeon Moon’? Yeah. Just... stay put, Drake.”

_ I’ll look at it tonight with you in mind. _

He left, determination swelling up and washing away the painful feeling that had settled into his chest, pursuing the fleeing figure, injuries all but forgotten. There was the overwhelming sense that whoever this was, they would surely know something, surely it was important for him to talk to them, whoever they may be.

Softly, the ground shifted from hard, cold steel to the fading warmth of the sandy shore underneath his boots, the sky painting itself a pretty picture of vibrant orange, cool indigo, and the burning red hues as the sun spent its final few moments slipping under the waves, its light framing in darkness an imposing figure who stood just at the edge of the tide, the ocean lapping at his void-black boots. Eagle’s expression hardened, any remaining sadness he had suddenly, and violently, transmuting itself into pure fury at this man, this man who had caused all the suffering on this beach here today.

“So, we meet again, Hawke.” He growled under his breath. “Was your first invasion not enough? Haven’t you caused enough pain and suffering for a lifetime?”

The stoic Black Hole Commander merely answered his line of questioning with an unbroken, icy stare, as the solar star slipped away behind him to give the world over to the creatures of darkness and night. The shadows cast over his features gave him an almost demonic visage as a result.

Fiery anger roiled inside of him, wanting to burst free like a vicious animal. Stepping forwards firmly, he glared with pure, unbridled hatred at this man, this, no, not a man, but surely some inhuman abomination from the far-flung reaches of space, something that couldn’t feel empathy no matter how hard it tried to feel something, anything – a hollow shell, yes, just like a black hole, just like the banner he waged war under, something that only took and took and never regretted its actions.

“You murdered him. I know, I saw you... you monster. How long were you standing there, watching him die like that? Do you even realize how badly he was hurt? I saw him DIE! Right in front of me! And... and you stand here, for what? Only to hurt others?”

No response. No acknowledgement. Eagle drew closer, tensed, back arched, and harshly gritting his teeth.

“He was our finest oceanic commander, and you... you killed him in cold blood,” he was inches away from him, now, facing up to him despite the significant height difference, shaking like a leaf in the wind, his blood pounding in his ears, “you heartless SON OF A BITCH!”

Hawke tilted his head, carefully observing the young, upstart commander.

“I am afraid you misunderstand the very concept of war. People die. Your friend – Drake, yes? He was just another casualty.”

Lightning fast-

“SHUT UP!”

-his fist lashed out at the Black Hole commander, narrowly missing the bottom of his chin, throwing him off balance, allowing him to be easily tripped and thrown into the brine. His head was forced down into the sludgy sand by something heavy – the other commander had him pinned - and he found himself sputtering in the salt water, the mixture burning his senses and infiltrating his lungs as he accidentally gulped it down. It was a repeat of earlier this evening, in many ways.

“Listen to me, Eagle. If you cannot stand the suffering war brings... then do not be a part of it. It will take everything you love and hold dear to you. Including that Orange Star girl.”

Floundering and clawing wildly at the air, he managed to break the surface for just a moment, gasping for breath, squirming off to the side and deeper into the sea roughly waist height now, somehow succeeding in escaping from Hawke’s grasp, panting heavily with the sheer effort of moving. The cold ocean froze him to his very soul, sapping all his energy. His vision was starting to blur, blackness approaching from the edges of his vision as dizziness overcame him, the lack of oxygen having taken a toll on him.

“S... Sami’s smart... she...”

“Will be okay? That didn’t prove true for your former pirate friend.”

“...ngh...”

Eagle couldn’t stand up straight anymore, stumbling uneasily form side to side. Combined exhaustion and the sheer shock of nearly drowning forced him to lurch awkwardly a short ways towards the shore, before he abruptly collapsed, embraced by the waves that seemed to almost have a sentience all their own, the tide wanting to tug him down, drag him far away from the safety of the shore, drown him. 

The last thing he saw in his fading mind was Hawke standing over his helpless form, the full moon shimmering just over the horizon.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“..... Andy....”

“Huh?... oh, he’s waking up, see? He’s okay!  Haha , not even a little bone damage can keep him down for long!”

Eagle woke up, dazed. Semi-harsh fluorescent lighting illuminated the place he was in, a bed with soft, warm sheets. Both of his legs were bandaged, one in a cast. It appeared to be a hospital room somewhere, Andy and Sami both sitting next to his  side, Andy with a huge smile, and Sami with a far more somber expression.

“... hey, you two.” He murmured, staring at the ceiling. How on earth did he get here?

“Hey! How’s our favorite air ace doing? I helped with some of the bandages, so if there’s any problems, let me know.” Andy laughed, though it seemed more stilted than per usual for him, the cheerful grin fading soon afterwards. “... I’m... surprised you’re as well-off as you were, when we got to that beach. We tried to get there as fast as possible, but, well... we ran into some trouble on the way.”

The young Orange Star officer murmured under his breath about a battleship in the middle of a lake.

“... how’d you know I was there?”

“Well, that’s the interesting thing – we picked up an unknown radio signal. It stopped as soon as we arrived, but hey. It led us to you.”

The thought crossed his mind that somehow that was Hawke’s doing. But why  help out the guy he was trying to kill in battle? Wasn’t that completely illogical, by all means? His final words to him briefly came back to him. He suggested he leave this life behind, before... before it was too late.

“Did you two... happen to see Hawke? He... he was there. I think he’s the guy who shot me down with that Bomber.” Curiosity, not hatred, permeated his words.

Sami’s face twisted into confusion. “No. No, there wasn’t anyone alive on that beach besides you. Disturbing, actually... there wasn’t even so much as a single Infantry.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Eagle, everyone thought you were dead. When we heard you got shot down, I thought maybe...” her gaze shifted off to the side. “... not that I had any doubts you would pull through somehow. But after Andy found Drake, I... I thought that it was possible that you... you might die, too...”

The two shifted uncomfortably in their seats, Andy looking... older, somehow. They all did. The tragedy today had forced those years upon them. Painful silence smothered the room, stifling his thought process  in regard to the mysterious motives of Hawke.

Eagle was the first to break the oppressive atmosphere, taking a shaky breath. “He... he told me he wanted to look at the ocean one last time.” he sniffled, feeling those tears rush back to his face. “Sami, he... he didn’t deserve to die... oh, dear god, he didn’t... it wasn’t his time to go...”

Her hand cupped his, gently squeezing it. Her touch greatly soothed him, the pain feeling just that little bit more bearable with her by his side.

“I know, Eagle. He was an amazing guy. Remember him for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I wrote this at the start of an obsession with this old GBA series, and decided it needed more love - although, those of you who have played the game likely noted that Bomber units can't actually fire on Battle Copters. That was user error, but I decided to keep it in anyway because I was tired and didn't want to clog up the story with unnecessary anecdotes about Anti-Air tanks. 
> 
> Additionally, Drake's Battleships have absurdly high defense - the one outlined here had already taken a severe beating.  
> Hawke's +10% attack is insane sometimes... though his CO and Super CO Power can't actually reduce a unit to below 1 HP. But I'm rambling about mechanics again.
> 
> The title of this fic is inspired by a theme from PMD. The two series aren't remotely related aside from both being owned by Nintendo, but I found it fit the themes of the story quite well in this case.
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading my dark oneshot about an obscure, almost twenty-year-old game.


End file.
